


Sick (An Imagine)

by shaneo6930



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, M/M, caretaker Dylan O'Brien, imagine, non gender specific, sick day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5364626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaneo6930/pseuds/shaneo6930
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine you wake up sick, and Dylan takes care of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick (An Imagine)

**Author's Note:**

> After reading nearly every Dylan O'Brien imagine, I decided to write one of my own. I made it non gender specific so anybody could imagine themselves in the situation. The Teen rating is for 2 uses of profanity. Just being safe. My first imagine, so please be gentle.

The first thing you heard as you woke up was the annoying buzzing of that alarm clock your mom gave you for Christmas. As you tried to sit up, you found it felt like a giant rock was sitting on your chest and head. You couldn’t breathe through your nose to save your life, and your throat was on fire. Fuck. You’re sick. 

“(Y/N), it’s time to get up,” your boyfriend Dylan adorably cooed from beside you. He touched your shoulder to gently shake you awake. 

“No,” you hoarsely grumble, not even finding the energy to open your eyes. Dylan immediately reacts with worry. Normally, you’re the morning person. 

 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he worriedly asks. “…ick,” is all you can get out before your throat forces you to shut up. Dylan reaches over and places his hand on your forehead. 

“Fuck, (Y/N). You’re burning up,” he said, pulling the covers all the way over your shoulders. “Just go back to sleep. I’ll call your boss and tell her what’s up.” He grabs your phone and heads just outside the door. Drifting in and out, you barely hear Dylan’s voice. “Hey. I’m calling about (Y/N). Yeah, (she/he)’s not able to come in today. Running a fever…” And then you were out. 

A couple of hours later, you awoke, covered in a layer of sweat. Groaning, you peel the sheets off, and shuffle to the bathroom. On your way, you pass by the kitchen to see Dylan setting up stuff on the table. 

“Hey, you’re up,” Dylan grins as he leads you to the table and sits you down. “What is this?” you softly ask, trying to not irritate your already sore throat. 

Dylan picks up a bottle of cough syrup and pours out a dose. Handing you the small plastic cup, he gently says “Don’t talk until you’ve taken this.” You slowly drink the bitter red liquid, almost gagging after it’s all gone. The syrup starts working almost immediately, soothing your throat. 

“Thanks,” you say, setting the cup on the table, and looking through the other items he’s laid out. “What’s going on here?”

Dylan sat down beside you. “This is your get well soon kit, baby. I’ve converted the sectional in the living room into a bed, so we can curl up by the fireplace and get you better.”

He across the table and handed you a bag of sore throat drops. The orange flavor, like you love. “Dyl, how did you know I like these?”

“I texted your mom. She practically sent me a handbook on what to do in this situation. Apple juice, chicken and rice—not noodle—soup, and—“ He grabbed something off of the counter behind him and held it in front of your face. “Princess Bride. She said it was your favorite.”

You grabbed the DVD and smiled, tears forming in your eyes. “If I didn’t feel like shit run over by a truck, I’d so kiss you right now,” you said. 

“Even more reason to help you feel better.” He leaned down and gently kissed your forehead. “Wow. I think that fever is coming down a bit.” 

“I think I’m gonna go ahead and lie down,” you said, getting up and moving toward the living room. “Do you want me to heat up some of this soup for you?” Dylan called out behind you. “Sure,” You replied, as you curled up under the cover on the couch. 

Not too long after, Dylan joined you on the couch, with two bowls of chicken and rice soup. After both of you got finished eating, Dylan started the movie, and let you lay your head on his chest. Between the warmth of the blanket, and the comforting rhythm of your boyfriend’s breathing, you were asleep by the time Buttercup and Westley reached the Fire Swamp. 

The next time you woke up, your throat was only a little scratchy, and Dylan was asleep, his head leaning on yours. You curled back into him with one thought. Best sick day ever.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. :)


End file.
